Not Guilty
by Drumboy100
Summary: Mark witnesses a miscarriage of justice and devotes himself to vigilante justice instead. What will it take to bring him back? Warnings: some violence, Mark OOC.
1. Chapter 1

It should have been a no-brainer. There were witnesses, items of evidence, and even bad character references.

I'd gone to the trial just to support my friend Stephen from school. The verdict had been so obvious that the whole town had known that the trial was just a formality. We would all go through the motions to follow the rules of justice, and breathe a collective sigh of relief when an example of evil personified hung from a tree.

In fact, I'd been nodding off. The day had been stiflingly hot, and I figured that the sound of the gavel would wake me up, and I could join the crowd clapping my friend on the back.

My eyes fought to remain open, and then suddenly couldn't be wider. Had I heard that correctly? My ears rang with the echo of "not guilty," and I frantically looked around the room for reactions. A lot of sighs, some people letting their heads drop into their hands, and one eye roll.

My eyes snapped up to my Paw. His mouth was set into a hard, grim line, and his eyes sparked with anger.

And, finally, I forced my eyes on Stephen. He was white, shaken, and terrifyingly confused, as any rational person would have been in his situation.

I don't remember the rest of the afternoon very well. I recollect a fog of silent people exiting the courtroom, not even making the usual complaining small talk that tended to happen when an injustice was committed. Funny, not many people were willing to look Stephen in the eye, much less gather around him for support like we would have done otherwise.

We didn't have to worry too long about his feelings, anyway. Two nights later, his body was discovered strung from a beam at the back of his barn. Suicide, perhaps, or so it was assumed.

That was the last night I slept at my father's ranch. Four days after that, the gentleman involved in Stephen's farm burning (with his parents inside the house) and subsequent "suicide" abruptly went missing, and has not been seen or heard of since.

trtrtrtrtrtrtrtrtr

I jerked my head to the side, giving the last signal. My current client, Cliff, gave me one last, nervous look. I'd seen that expression countless times in the last few years: excited, afraid, incredulous that the moment had finally come. Cliff crept silently to my side, and I opened the door calmly, not even giving my opponent the advantage of a fight-flight reaction. A frown creased the stranger's face, and he was about to open his mouth for the usual question when I grabbed him in a vice grip, holding him firmly from behind.

Cliff's personality had completely transformed. He took two steps forward, his features contorted with rage, almost frothing at the mouth. "Jamison," he growled viscerally. "My family _trusted_ you. When you went into—"

"Keep the speech short," I interrupted. "Every second gives him another opportunity to do something drastic."

Cliff spared a glance in my direction, and turned back to his target. He seemed to relish the position he was in, glorifying in holding the pistol five feet away from his most hated adversary, drinking in the raw panicked fear in the other man's eyes. "I've dreamed of this moment for six years," he concluded. "See you in hell."

I stepped to the side, which was the signal Cliff was waiting for. He emptied his six-shooter into the body of his once-dearest friend, and then stood stunned, sweat dripping off his brow. "Oh, God," he said uncertainly, wiping his forehead and turning away from the gore.

I surveyed the scene, satisfied that we had left as little evidence as possible. "Come on," I told him, putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him out. The emotional aftermath was the most dangerous time, when the clients tended to want to digest their feelings rather than get the hell out of there.

Guiding Cliff through the pre-planned longer route, we rode hard for several hours, stopping at a saloon for a possible alibi in an out-of-the-way town. They could never pinpoint the death to the exact hour, and anyway the man's wife wouldn't return home until tomorrow. I'd collected my payment a few miles back.

I slumped to the bar, my slight stature and alter-boy face allowing me to slip in unnoticed. I ordered my usual bourbon-and-water, waiting for the minor wooziness to dull the edges of my senses. I never got completely drunk, as I preferred to never lose control over my thoughts and actions.

"Hello, Mark," a familiar voice sighed, as a slightly rotund figure squeezed into the bar seat next to me. I frowned in confusion, for a moment overcome by the strange feeling that comes when a person is completely out of the context they are usually in.

"Micah," I said in surprise. "What the…?"

Micah laughed and ordered a shot of rum. "Good to see you, boy."

"Good to see you, too." I grinned and leaned in, accepting his hearty handshake. "How's everyone doing?"

Micah shrugged. "You know nothing ever changes at North Fork, except for a new outlaw needing to be run out of town every once in a while. Except Greta Hilden's father finally passed away after one of his episodes, and Anne Bradshaw had a fine set of twins."

"Shame about the first piece of news, and congrats on the second," I said, shaking my head. "She always said that she'd never marry, and she's one of the first ones to do so, and now reproduce."

Micah's eyes twinkled, and he searched my face, then giving me a lingering once-over with his eyes. "Better yet, how are you doing?"

"Come on now, don't start in on me," I chided, taking a sip thoughtfully. "I'm fine. Not ready to settle down yet. How do you keep finding me, anyway?"

"Well, first I make a map of where I know you've been, and then add pins for all the spots people say you've been, and play connect-the-dots until I see a pattern." I rolled my eyes good-naturedly in response. "Or I just look for an excuse to go from bar to bar and hope you show up," Micah amended. "Anyway, I have a few of my own hustles up my sleeves, too, you know."

A violent shiver ricocheted up my spine. "You didn't—"I whispered fiercely, craning my neck in various directions, "He's not—"

"No, I came alone. I knew we might lose you entirely if I brought him along." Micah looked at me with an expression of sad defeat. "How about we start our usual sparring match, huh? I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try to get you back with every argument I can think of."

"Sure, we can argue if you want to," I said, once again pleased to see him, enjoying just a few minutes with an old friend. "I'll go first. I'm a grown man, I've lost all faith in the law so I exercise justice as I see fit, and at least I do my own research to make sure the person's guilty before taking on a client."

Micah rolled his eyes. "Really, Mark, you're not a judge or a lawyer, and—"He stopped when he saw my stiffening shoulders. "Obviously we think of justice in very different ways," he said drily. "Are you happy, son?"

I shrugged. "I don't think about it much. I'm contributing to the human race in a positive way, and that's enough."

Micah stared at me for a moment, and I knew he was gauging whether or not to try a fresh argument. He decided to try it. "Do you really think Stephen would endorse what you're doing?" he said quietly.

I sat perfectly still, and drained my glass. I changed my posture so I'd be able to leave at a moment's notice if necessary. "You're pushing too hard, Micah," I warned.

He waved a hand. "Forget it. But seriously, Mark, your father is as listless now as he was a week after you left. We know that he could find you if he wanted to. It's been over three years, though…you're about to finally convince us that you're _not_ just going through a phase. This place is almost a two days' ride from North Fork. I'm not sure how much farther south I'll be able to keep finding you or following you."

My heart sank at the thought of losing these twice-yearly surprise visits, but he and I both knew that I had to be continuously on the move. "I'll miss you, Micah," I said, and meant it.

"Damn it, Mark"—we got a couple of glances our way as his fist pounded on the countertop—"How about you take a second and at least pretend to be considering the people that love you?"

"This is my life," I responded. "I'm not asking Paw to put his life on hold to wait for me. Paw has his own strict sense of justice, and how is his so much better than mine? He stands up to the bad guys and shoots them in self-defense, and I just do more research and shoot the bad guys pre-planned."

"Uh-huh." Micah worked his tongue over his top teeth thoughtfully, and paid for both of our drinks. "Young people. You think that you have all the time in the world, and all the options will always be available to you. I sincerely hope you don't have to learn the same lessons as the rest of us usually do." Micah clapped my shoulder twice and walked out the door.

I followed. "Micah—" I opened my arms and he briefly crushed me with his characteristically enthusiastic bear hug, and I stepped back. "I really am sorry that we can't have it both ways," I said honestly. "You'll tell Paw—the usual?"

"Say it, Mark."

"Tell Paw that I love him, will you?"

"Sure, I can do that much." Micah squinted into the setting sun, and hoisted himself nimbly into his saddle despite his advancing years and size. "Although your actions don't seem to follow the words."

"Come on, don't leave me with a guilt trip," I said.

"Alright. Take care of yourself, my boy," Micah said, and leaned over for a final handshake.

I watched him until he disappeared from sight, then saddled up and moved on.


	2. Chapter 2

Six days later, I was in search of a new client to distract me from my thoughts. I found a town and began asking questions, pretending not to be too interested in the answers lest the good citizens become suspicious. A theme began to emerge, and several indignant witnesses began telling me the same version of a story. Therefore, at approximately 5:00 I entered the local saloon, where a sullen, angry-looking man of about forty sat in the far left corner.

He appeared oblivious to the flirtatious chatter of a woman with too much makeup and too little clothing. She finally gave up, and I waited a few more minutes to not be too obvious, and took a stool two seats away from him. Forty excruciating minutes later, I had a new case.

"So tell me what exactly is going on?" Rocky Hawkes asked the following night, his eyes darting forward and backward, even as we stood by a tree on the far edge of a nearby settlement. He was obviously nervous and naïve, as I preferred my clients to be. After all, they weren't criminals, they were the victims. The man standing next to Rocky, however (a cousin, I believe?), looked a lot more fierce.

"I asked my contacts today if they'd heard of this man that you've described," I repeated, to make sure one last time that we were all on the same page. "Since he was wounded and a wanted man, I knew just the doctor in these parts that he probably would have ended up with, and he did."

"I swear, when I saw that big monster trample my unarmed brother…" Rocky's hands clenched into fists. "He thought that my brother Eddie was alone, and ran him down with his horse when Eddie stopped to water his own. That man wanted to rob the wagon, but he didn't realize that a few of us were sitting back in there to get some shade, and the coward took off galloping when he realized we were going to put up a fight."

"We hit him at least once with our round of fire when he was running away," the cousin said proudly.

"Eye for an eye," I answered. "How involved would you like to be in his death?" I knew that part of my job was grief counseling, but they had told me this story countless times already, as if maybe telling it in a different way would bring closure.

"Involved in his death," Rocky mused, uncertain now that all this theory was turning into real practicalities. "I've never killed a man…but I'm sure you have…" He looked at me hopefully. The cousin looked as if he wouldn't mind shooting a stranger from the back and his gardener, too, although remained silent since this was Rocky's choice.

I therefore decided for them. "I'll go in, speak to the doctor, and challenge this criminal," I said. "Give me fifteen minutes. If I'm not out, then come in and find us. Shoot on sight." I certainly did not need backup, especially not these two, but I knew that victims tend to want to feel involved when seeking justice. Besides, I thought of myself as a helper of justice, not a hired under-the-radar bounty hunter.

The two nodded their agreement, and I rode my horse to a rundown barn that was a significant distance from the nearest house. I tethered my horse a respectful space away, and entered the barn calmly from the back.

"Who's there?" I heard the doctor call anxiously, and I saw her run out of the far stall. The short, older woman gave a soft curse as she saw me, and her features settled into lines of defeat. "You."

"Yes. Me," I answered. "I'll keep finding your new locations as soon as you establish them, Doctor."

"You're surely damned for what you do," she said, and spat on the floor in front of me.

"Nothing personal," I answered. "You and I are both bound to the ethics that come with our professions. You want to save everyone you can, and for me it's a bit more selective."

"I don't care what he did, he is my patient," she said. "One arm and one hand were wounded when someone from the wagon shot at him. Where would your twisted sense of honor be when you met a wounded man in a duel?"

"So he can limp out on one leg and shoot with one arm," I responded simply.

"He doesn't use a pistol," she said. "He uses a rifle."

A rifle. I was very familiar with rifles. "Then he can limp out of that stall with his rifle out of the holster, with it pointing straight down to the floor," I said. "That's the best I can do. If his rifle points in any other direction, I will shoot." My eyes darted around to be sure that my opponent was not preparing to take a cheap shot as I made plans to face him honorably.

She looked at me with obvious revulsion, and turned back to the corner stall. "Let me speak to him," she said over her shoulder.

"No heroics, Doctor," I called to her. "You know you're always safe with me, but don't come between our line of fire or you won't be much help to the next bleeding criminal."

I heard her low, urgent whispers, but the criminal's response was too low to be overheard, or perhaps he was merely gesturing with his hands. A moment later she returned, her head held high.

"He has agreed to your conditions," she said, her eyes moistening.

"Good," I said. "Now go and fetch the closest lawman, and we'll both play our usual parts. Maybe you'll get back before I leave this time." She turned and walked out.

I heard a shuffle, a groan, and the sound of hay shifting. I felt an adrenaline rush, the blood pumping past my ears, my pulse quickening. I saw the top of the blonde head of a giant of a man, then a rifle pointing to the floor as promised. Then suddenly my pounding heart screeched to a standstill, as did my lungs as he did an about face—

"Paw!" I managed to gasp, the edges of my vision blurring from shock and horror. My knees shook, and threatened to buckle.

"Thanks for the welcome, son," Paw said, his face set in angry, rigid lines.

I realized my hand was still on my gun, and I yanked my hand away like metal was burning hot.

"Get your hand back on that holster," my paw snapped.

"Well—let's—let's—"I winced as I heard my own stuttering, my teeth chattering. I'd hoped to leave the nervous habit behind with my childhood.

"Let's what?" Paw tightened his grip on his Winchester.

I rattled a breath inward, frantically supplying my lungs with oxygen. Surely he didn't…this was an object lesson, right? He wasn't going to…?

"Let's talk," I managed.

"Oh, no. You don't believe in talking, right? First impressions are always accurate, and a man can't defend himself in a rational court of law. Your opinion is final, so I must have really trampled that man in cold blood. Right?" Paw bore his steely eyes into my panicked ones. I had seen that look many times, but had never been on the receiving end of it.

"I-I-I don't think you would have done that." I took a step backward.

"Stand your ground, Mark. Have you ever seen me stand down from a spoken challenge?"

I knew where this was going, and felt dizzy. I wasn't sure which way was up. "No, sir," I said automatically.

"And I didn't raise a punk coward son to do it either. You've challenged me, I accept, and you'll follow this through. We'll each take three small steps forward, and then draw."

I leaned against the nearest post, valiantly resisting the urge to retch. I took a few deep breaths and resumed my stance. I nodded.

"Okay," he said. "One…" we stepped. "Two…three—"

I squeezed my eyes shut and yelled, draping my arm across my eyes and firing once, wildly. I heard a bullet whiz over my head, dramatically out of range, and made a "fzzt!" sound as it impaled a rotten bale of hay. It tottered, trying to regain its balance, but fell from the rafters above, landing a foot from where I stood.

I slowly straightened my spine, peering out from under my arm. My father remained exactly how he'd been standing, recovering quicker than me. His stern features softened microscopically.

"Paw," I squeaked, dropping my gun, my eyes filling with tears. I felt exhausted.

"You created the chasm between us, Mark," Paw said quietly. "You're going to have to cross it."

I stared at him. My knees found their strength, and I ran to him, arms out as I had done when I was a little boy. I saw him throw his beloved Winchester aside carelessly, small smile wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes, and he held his arms out to receive me. There was no longer any need for him to crouch down as he once had.

I slammed into him and he took a few steps back, trying to catch his balance. We both flopped ungracefully into the same stall where the doctor had repeatedly bandaged his wounds over the past couple of days.

I half-laughed, half-sobbed as I held him tightly around the chest. He stroked my hair, saying a soothing "shhh" as he had after my nightmares growing up.

"God, Paw," I managed, wiping the beginning traces of a tear streak off my face, replacing it with a dirt smear instead.

"Watch your mouth, boy."

I grinned. I'd once loved the way he ordered me around authoritatively, then I'd hated it, and right now I was back to loving it. He winced as I changed positions, and I noticed fresh blood seeping through his bandages. I frantically took a closer look. "Paw, you're really hurt—"

"Not as hurt as you'd have liked me to be."

I swallowed, forcing back the overwhelming guilt. "Well, we'll—"

I heard loud, obvious footsteps coming toward the entrance at the far end of the barn, and blood turned to ice in my veins.

"My clients," I said, jumping nimbly to my feet. "Stay here, Paw."

"Like hell I will," he growled, struggling to come to his feet.

"Watch your mouth and stay down," I snapped, giving him a powerful shove.

There was an almost comical look of bewilderment on his face as he fell abruptly on his backside. I was twenty now, and he'd just learned how much stronger I'd gotten.

Knowing this was my only chance to arm myself, I dove for my pistol but it was too far away. I rolled into the nearest stall, grateful that my gun was at least buried in the hay.

The two men kicked the door in abruptly, waiting a couple of seconds in case they were shot at, and hesitatingly entered. They were wary, seeing no one.

"Hey, you two," I managed, knowing that the odds were slim that we'd be able to talk this out. They wouldn't buy a (true) tear-jerker story that the criminal was really my paw.

Four eyes flashed toward me, and I held up my hand. "Stop there," I warned. "There's…there's a situation here. I think this man may have harmed your brother accidentally, and he may need…to stand trial." I winced as I said it.

Rocky's eyes registered surprise, but his cousin's turned immediately to disgust. "What kind of double-cross are you trying to pull, kid?" he sneered. "Where is this guy?" Knowing Paw was wounded, he started to search for him. Then he stood stock-still as his hat was blown cleanly off his head.

My head snapped to the side. Paw was lying on his side, having grabbed his Winchester, heaving and sweating from the exertion. His face was beginning to turn a sickly shade of yellowish white from blood loss. "My new friend here and I are far apart, but you two are right next to each other." Paw spat out a blockage of phlegm. "So it looks like you two boys will be able to kill one of us, but not both." Paw knew that he was now out in the open, while I was still covered by a side of the stall I was in.

My mouth dropped. My life was not worth living if I had to go through it with the image of my father sacrificing himself when I had put him in this situation. I vaguely heard the cousin say, "Well, you know which one of you we'll choose, then."

I yelled, giving up any bluffs that I had a gun, and made a dash to stand in front of my father. A board splintered right next to my left eye, and I froze in place.

"Stay there, Mark," Paw ordered vehemently. "This battle is my own."

It really wasn't, though. It really wasn't.

The cousin trained his gun on Paw. "This is for Eddie, you son of a—"

The door closest to Paw burst open, and officers streamed in, seven in all. "Drop the guns, all of you," their leader ordered.

Shooting Paw a look of venomous rage, the cousin dropped his gun, and Rocky did too, who had never taken his from his holster. Paw shoved his Winchester toward the officers.

"Now how about you tell us what's going on?" the sheriff asked.

Rocky said in a shaking voice, "This is the man who trampled my brother two days ago."

All eyes were on Paw. He began to move, and officers swarmed to his side. "Hold on," he said to them, allowing them to keep their weapons trained on him, their hands on each of his shoulders. His bandages were soaked with blood.

He had struggled to his knees.

"My horse spooked at exactly the wrong time," Paw said, speaking mostly to Rocky. "There was a rock and a ditch at a bad place. If I'd only had ten more feet, if only your brother had heard me calling out to him sooner, I could have calmed her or saved him. I had to get away afterward because you all had started shooting. I'm so, so sorry that now your family is without a brother, friend, possibly a husband or father, because I didn't have that extra ten feet. I am very sorry."

Rocky's cousin looked incredulous. Rocky's face started to break down, contorted with the ragged grief that he'd experienced nonstop for days. "I know the spot you speak of," he said. "Your story makes sense." The room was still as Rocky struggled with his conflicting emotions. "I thought I wanted your death," he told my paw finally. "But now that I look into your eyes, maybe all I need is your apology."

"Rocky!" his relative said, eyes wide.

"Let it go, Mitch," Rocky said, imploring him with his eyes and hands as well. "He killed Eddie by accident, and we shot him on purpose. If we go after him, then he'll be after us"—he nodded toward me—"and then we'll be after him, and who knows what friends he has…there's been enough injury and death."

"That takes a strong man," the sheriff said. He turned toward Paw. "No charges on either side?"

"No," both men said firmly.

Mitch looked furious, and walked outside for some air. The doctor rushed forward to change Paw's wounds again. "Thank God they're here," she said, gesturing briefly toward me. "Now they can finally take this outlaw away."

"Actually…" the deputy gave me a long, wary look. "We only have reports and evidence that he challenged men to duels, and outside of the city lines. So, although I'm not convinced that that's the case everywhere—" he squinted at me—"we here have no reason to detain him."

The doctor gaped in shock. "So my patient is still in danger!" she fairly shrieked.

Paw and I looked at each other, and started to laugh. I returned to his side. "He's my paw," I said.

The look on her face was priceless.


	3. Chapter 3

Highly ironically, the good doctor allowed me to stay in the barn with Paw for another week while he received fresh stitches, and then he and I were given permission to start heading back, only riding for a few hours a day. Fortunately, the bullet had only grazed his hand, but I did worry about his leg.

When Paw had heard from Micah that I was moving too far south for Micah to continue trailing me, Paw had known that this was his last chance to reach me. I knew he'd been right about that.

"Funny, you seem just like the kid I raised, only…older." Paw sighed, forcing himself to keep his horse at a walk. "I thought you'd be a hardened criminal."

"The exact opposite, Paw," I answered. "I'm not always a fan of the law, but I am on the side of justice. I still remember my sirs and ma'ams, too."

Paw smiled sadly. "So…we've both been putting off this question for days. Are you coming home for good, or are you dropping your old man off?"

I paused. "You know…I didn't just challenge people to duels," I said to him, and he nodded. He'd known as much.

"That's a factor in your choice. I do believe in the law, son. If anyone came for you from another area…I can't stop you from leaving, but on my end, I would expect you to comply with the law."

"And by not turning me in now, you have to acknowledge that sometimes the ends do justify the means," I pressed. "If the law is always right, then you shouldn't be housing me."

His shoulders stiffened. "You're right."

"You know, you've got quite a body count to your credit, too, Paw," I said, annoyed now.

"That's a little different."

"How so?"

"That was always in self-defense, or in defense of others."

"And I was also defending others, only after the heat of the moment."

Paw did not look convinced by this argument, but left it at that. "Well, then the next issue would be…would you be happy with me, on our ranch in a slower life, now that you've seen the world?"

I smiled sideways at him. "I certainly didn't see the good parts of the world."

He smiled back, a full smile that I hadn't seen in years. "I've missed you, Mark," he said openly.

"You too, Paw." I rode a little closer to him. "Now that we're both adults, I think we can live together and learn some of the other's point of view along the way, too."

Paw let out a breath, and looked as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. "Sounds good to me."

"Despite everything, I meant what I kept saying to Micah. I do love you, Paw."

"Back at you, kid."


End file.
